I'm More Scrooge Than Scrooge

So I just received an email from yet another reader who wanted to wish me a 'Merry Christmas'. Make no mistake, I sincerely appreciate the warm wishes, the fact that these people think of me and take time out of their day to write me such endearing sentiments. That really means a lot to me personally and I am grateful.

But it was another reminder of this wretched holiday. Bah, I deplore it. Christmas. A humbug, that's what Scrooge rightly called it (although he was ultimately weak because he gave in to the nauseous trappings of the 'holiday spirit', along with the equally weak Grinch). I have not held a favorable view of this holiday season since I was a very young boy and still naïve about most everything. So much of the Christmas season has become repugnant to me; through its bloated commercial excess it has lost most of its authentic value. I do appreciate the importance of families getting together and celebrating their love and solidarity. Absolutely and without reservation. But for me that is accomplished at Thanksgiving—which really makes Christmas superfluous on that score.

And, let's be honest, there is nothing Christian about the holiday season. From the decorated tree to the festively wrapped presents to the egg nog and Mandarin oranges to Santa Claus and his reindeer and the stockings hung by the chimney with care, at the end of the day Christ is not to be found anywhere in the truly predominant features of the holiday (ignoring the fact that he was almost certainly not born on the 25th of December). Aside from our nods to nativity scenes and the tradition of recounting the gospel narratives of his birth, what exactly does Christ have to do with Christmas? Nothing, if we can be honest about it. It is a facade impotently concealing the fact that this season and its traditions originate in pagan religions.

When is Thanksgiving? It’s around the middle of October for Canadians and around the end of November for Americans. And then there is New Year’s Eve at the close of December. Those are holidays I genuinely appreciate and can get into the spirit of. But what is this ‘Christmas’ inserted in between them? I could really do without that superfluous holiday.

Misfortunate Friends

Nothing proves who your real friends are quite like misfortune.

When misfortune hits—and what form it takes rarely matters—a real sense of loneliness can envelope me. The perception of that loneliness is not an illusion; I am genuinely alone because, when misfortune befalls me, a number of so-called friends are suddenly nowhere to be found. And that loneliness is palpable because it is precisely in those moments that I need friends the most. Why do so many friends vanish?

Because I was never their friend. That's the dirty little truth. I was nothing more than a notch on their social network belt, whose value was measured by the contribution my acquaintance made to their status quo, which diminishes by the degree to which I am perceived as a liability. When misfortune befalls me, I become 'high maintenance'. I am worthy of their time so long as I don't require anything of them, even more so if I can be of use to them.

But if I am not of use to them or if I have some kind of need, I'm treated like a pariah and soon find myself experiencing a poverty of social contact. So it is in those moments of misfortune that I have to retreat to that small, select group of people who are genuine friends. Misfortunes make demands on my attention and energies, which cannot be wasted on frivolities like self-absorbed ingrates. And that group is small indeed because precious few are those who I consider worthy of my true self. When misfortune hits and causes my social contacts to evaporate, creating that perception of real loneliness, it is then that my true friends stand out in stark contrast. And I look at those who disappeared and I say, 'This has been added against your account.'

Another Rational Atheist

Evidently there are some atheists who do not know how to read—which is quite an extraordinary paradox, given their apparent ability to write. You see, despite the fact that my former blog Apologia has been declared 'Closed' for more than a year, it continues to receive drive-by comments from these visitors. (Some might argue that perhaps these visitors are linked to the specific article in question by Google, but that is no excuse because I reiterate within the Comments field itself that the blog is closed.)

A gentleman by the name of Nigel Davies recently left a terrific scholarly response:

Your religion does not declare that there is one God atall. It declares faith in the Holy Trinity of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost betraying its origins in pre-Christian faiths of multiple gods. You have rationalised that down to one god but you have one more reduction to go before you reach the fact that there is actually no god atall.

Christianity does not declare that there is one God, Davies states. Were you aware of this? I wasn't. That was definitely news to me. When I examine every reasonable standard of historic Christian belief, from apostolic teaching and throughout the history of orthodox doctrine, I find again and again the declaration that there is one God—and at times rather explicitly, in direct repudiation of relevant heresies (e.g., The Nicene Creed, which begins with the affirmation, "I believe in one God").

Do you know what we call a proposition that's contradicted by evidence? A delusion, sir. This is especially the case when the amount of invalidating evidence is so extensive. Now, I think it's quite probable that Davies meant to say that the expression 'trinitarian monotheism' is an oxymoron but, if that is so, he really ought to have said that because that's quite a different statement—but it's also an extremely difficult one to support, given a responsible definition of both terms (viz. both terms presuppose a singular deity).

Of particular interest to me, of course, is his bold assertion that it's a "fact" that God does not exist. Oh how I would love to examine the evidence which establishes that as a fact. I shall not hold my breath, though.

Håvard Skjæveland and the Problem of Evil – Part 1

It seems that my discussion with Skjæveland on the Problem of Evil (i.e., how it supposedly demonstrates the probability that God doesn’t exist) has drawn to a tentative close. And I want to highlight the term “tentative” because he has not exactly given up yet. Let me explain where we’re at thus far and how we got here.

First, a little background information on Skjæveland. He is a 23-year old student from Stavanger, Norway, who is studying web programming. He is an avowed atheist who describes himself as “running pretty high on Richard Dawkins’ atheism scale” which means, I have reason to think, he affirms the ‘strong’ version of atheism. He also admitted to me that his thinking has been influenced by the New Atheist propaganda of Dawkins, Hitchens, Dennet, and Harris. (These gentlemen are reliable on philosophy in the same way that Duane Gish is reliable on science.)

On December 10th he introduced himself to me in an email which described his appreciation of the fact that someone else actually recognizes the fundamental difference between agnosticism and atheism, that the former addresses an issue different from the latter. “I was beginning to think I was alone!” he exclaimed. And in a subsequent email he shared with me a brief synopsis of his atheistic convictions and how he arrived at them. A particularly compelling issue for him, he said, was how convincingly the Problem of Evil undermines Christian theism. (I chose to ignore his thoughts on other religions, e.g., Hinduism, because I have no interest in defending those.) Since I have never encountered a Problem of Evil argument that accomplishes its intended aim—and I have examined many, both historical and contemporary—I thought this could be an issue worth exploring. He agreed to engage me on it.

He began with the logical Problem of Evil argument as presented by Epicurus, whom he cited directly, an argument taken up by others like David Hume and John L. Mackie. However, this alleged problem suffers from a fatal flaw, I pointed out—the definition of ‘evil’. Epicurus and others who submit this problem use the term 'evil' but never bother to define it. Until that term is defined, the problem is a lifeless corpse with no merit whatsoever because 'evil' lies at the very heart of the issue. “If you find the logical Problem of Evil argument compelling,” I said, “it's because you have assumed a definition of 'evil' on behalf of the argument.” I told him that he needed to disclose this definition he was assuming in order to continue examining the problem.

At this point he backed away from the Problem of Evil argument. “I don’t really know how to define evil,” he confessed, and asked if we could approach it as a Problem of Suffering argument instead. “Surely you agree,” he said, “that there is gratuitous suffering in the world,” that God could do something “so that people don’t suffer needlessly.” And I had to stop him right there. First, the Problem of Suffering argument shoulders an enormous burden of proof that has to be met. As the critical mind will detect, asking me to agree from the outset that gratuitous suffering exists is to beg the very question, which is fallacious. Since the supposed existence of gratuitous suffering lies at the heart of the argument—the very issue upon which it is hinged—he cannot simply assume it, nor can he ask me to.

Second, how I understand the term “suffering” differs explicitly from how he understands it (because our metaethics are antithetical, mine being God-based and him being an atheist), so my agreement would only encourage the fallacy of equivocation at any rate. Then I reset the conversation, underscoring the two things that must be established. “If you cannot prove the gratuity of human suffering, the argument fails. If you cannot prove that human suffering is inconsistent with the attributes of God, the argument fails” (viz. omnipotent, omniscient, omnibenevolent).

Skjæveland said he didn’t know how to go about proving the gratuity of suffering “except to come up with hypothetical scenarios” by which to illustrate it. So he called upon the example of rape: “Surely the woman being raped didn’t ask for it and certainly doesn’t deserve it.” Again I had to note the logical fallacy being committed, or possibly two different fallacies. On the one hand, he is possibly committing the fallacy of arguing from incredulity; i.e., “This suffering must be gratuitous because I can’t believe it’s not.”

On the other hand, he is definitely committing the fallacy of begging the question; i.e., “This is gratuitous suffering because it is gratuitous.” How did he commit this fallacy? By stating that the rape victim did not deserve it. Unfortunately, that assumes the truth of the very conclusion to be proved. “I am not trying to suggest she did deserve it,” I said. “It's just that I won't be bullied into a conclusion, if you know what I mean.” Nothing defeats an argument quite like fallacies, by which it defeats itself. They are to be avoided. Does there exist gratuitous suffering? That’s the burden shouldered by this argument, which must be met because if gratuitous suffering does not exist then the argument is a dog with no bite.

On the issue of whether or not human suffering is inconsistent with the attributes of God, Skjæveland had no directly relevant response. The only response he had was, “If God made us this way, doesn’t that suggest that God is at least imperfect?” First of all, God is not imperfect if the history of creation is unfolding precisely as he had planned it, meeting every purpose for which it was designed. Second, I was unable to determine how the angle his response took here adequately meets the burden of proof. The perfection of God was not the issue. The issue is the alleged conflict between human suffering and a God who is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent. So I had asked him to clarify, if he could, how his response relevantly answers that issue.

And at this point he backed away from the Problem of Suffering argument too. “I’ll concede the two informal fallacies you bring up,” he said, and further conceded that suffering could be consistent with the attributes of God (although it makes him wonder if God is “toying with us,” which I subsequently answered). “Can we leave the Argument of Suffering behind for the moment, and maybe drive back to pick it up later on?” he asked. “I admit tentative defeat; I need to think about it more and familiarize myself with the issues better.”

The following was my reply, in part:

According to my understanding, you were trying to describe an argument against the existence of God that you thought was compelling. What I was trying to do—the only thing I was trying to do—was critically examine the argument with you to see if it had any rational force. I accept that you found the argument compelling, but I disagree it was for rational reasons. In order to make my case, I had to score the argument rationally (step-by-step with you, in a somewhat Socratic fashion). By proving its logical weakness, I thereby establish that its compelling force could not have been reason.

I don't want to appear as though I am disparaging your intellect. I am personally convinced that you are quite a highly intelligent man. Please understand that. But I do think people should be honest with themselves—in my own opinion, speaking from my commitment to critical thinking. If an argument is proven to be logically untenable, then a person should be honest with himself and admit that its compelling force must have been something other than reason, i.e., that he came to the argument already convinced to some degree.

So here is my suspicion. I think you already sensed on some intuitive level that there was a conflict between what you see as gratuitous suffering on the one hand and the supposed attributes of God on the other, and you gravitated toward arguments that seemed to provide rational ammunition for what you already believed. In other words, the arguments did not convince you, but they were needed as rational support for what you already believed. Maybe by recognizing and honestly admitting that these arguments are logically untenable, a way can be opened for discovering why you think there's a conflict between the world and God.

I know you're not prepared to concede that yet. Given our brief exchange thus far, you are perhaps beginning to see that it's possible these arguments are untenable, but I don't think we've had enough mileage on this yet to convince you. I know only because I've done the homework already; now I'm showing you that homework. We'll get there, but on your terms.

This is where the critical analysis of the Problem of Evil or Suffering rests at this point. I’m pretty sure that we will return to it later, but for now I suspect that Skjæveland wants to (a) intellectually digest the criticisms I had raised, (b) review the arguments put forth by atheist philosophers on this issue, to find out if his presentation was missing something, and if so, what, and (c) to see if any of them adequately address the criticisms I had raised. He never said any of this, mind you; it’s just my suspicion, based on nothing other than the fact that it’s something I would do, having been in a similar position myself at times.

- - -

NB: I just want to underscore one remarkable feature of my present debate with Skjæveland, because its significance simply must not go unnoticed. In all the years I have engaged countless atheists in debate, not a single one has ever conceded (a) the logical fallacies I have pointed out in their arguments or (b) any sort of defeat of their argument. Without any exceptions, every single one of those atheists have insisted that either no fallacies were committed or that I don’t understand what fallacies are—even when the fallacy they commit is almost verbatim identical to the examples given in Logic textbooks I cite from.

I want to formally recognize and acknowledge that Skjæveland is the very first atheist I’ve ever debated who had the personal and intellectual integrity to concede a logical fallacy when indicated and the defeat it incurred. My respect for him can scarcely be measured it is so high. Out of hundreds of atheists, he’s the first. This man has a place of high honor in my estimation.

Håvard Skjæveland and the Problem of Evil

I am currently engaged in an email discussion with a young Norwegian by the name of Håvard Skjæveland on the Problem of Evil argument against the existence of God. (His internet footprint is outdated, he tells me, so take whatever you find about him with a grain of salt.) Our discussion began about four days ago and is still ongoing. Once it is completed, I intend to publish the results here in my blog, having received his permission to do so. Keep an eye out for this. He is a very intelligent, articulate, and respectful young man and our discussion is proving to be quite fruitful, certainly on my end.

(NOTE: As it stands right now, the discussion is shifting away from the problem of ‘evil’ in favour of the problem of ‘suffering’, but I am leaving the title as it is because whether the issue is ‘evil’ or ‘suffering’ the fundamental context is synonymous.)

Knowing a Personal God

When it comes to understanding the concept of God as a "personal God," who loves me, cares for me, and desires to have a relationship with me, I just don't get it. It doesn't make sense to me; I feel awkward when I pray, and just don't understand how, out of 6 billion people, I matter a hill of beans to the guy who created the universe. Surely, having done that, he has much more important concerns than lowly I . . . Logically, I can convince myself that God exists, but it doesn't go much beyond that. So, that's where I'm stuck, and have been stuck, for the past number of years.

He did more than create this vast and complex universe. The reason why out of some six billion people you, as a unique person, matter to God can be very succinctly stated: he also created you. Given what you have said elsewhere in this thread, I have a hunch that your view of God has more in common with Deism than with Christianity; e.g., "I view God as some abstract figure somewhere far off in the distance." It is inherently difficult to develop or even recognize a relationship with a God who created the entire cosmos and then stepped back while the universe developed under its own impetus. There is no point of contact with such a God; it feels like several billion years of evolution separates you from the last time God had anything to do with his creation. Ergo, he makes sense analytically but not on the personal level at which you exist.

That's a significant obstacle. So I suggest that the first step you need to take in order to bridge this awkward chasm is to evaluate your view of God. Currently your view of God, being more similar to Deism than anything, makes it practically impossible to develop a relationship with God. So sit back and ask yourself, "How is it I came to have this view of God? What informed my view? Is it accurate?" The only reason we know that God is more than some transcendent abstract entity—the only reason we know anything about God at all—is because he disclosed information about himself to mankind. Let me flesh out this concept allegorically.

A friend of Morgan's told her that there exists some writer named David, and had sufficient evidence for that claim enough for Morgan to accept it analytically. However, on the personal level it was practically meaningless to her. She had no idea who David is, other than what was provided by the proposition about his existence and that he is a writer. She may contemplate about him, trying to infer what she can from the fact that he is a writer, but in the final analysis he is a proposition, not a person. Yet what if she came across a number of books he had written not only about himself, describing his character and values, but also about things he had said to this person and done at that place, etc.? It stands to reason that David would then mean something more to her than he did before, because now she knows so much more about him as a person. There is still no personal connection between them, but he has certainly assumed enough new dimensions that she can see him as a person. (Real world example: at one point Barack Obama was nothing more meaningful to me than a name, until I read his autobiography. There is no personal connection between he and I, but for me he is now more than just a name; he is a person.) But now imagine that in one of the letters she discovered that David is her father, that she belongs to him. It stands to reason that he would then mean a great deal more to her than he ever did. By exploring what David had revealed about himself, for Morgan he went from being an empty proposition to a meaningful person—with whom she could have a relationship, and to whom she meant a lot.

Now maybe this allegory is too simplistic, perhaps it has some weakness in its relationship to the point I am trying to make here, but just keep in mind that it's being recommended more for its illustrative power than its accuracy. You believe that God created the universe, and that's certainly accurate. However, he did more than just create the universe. He also created you, which is one good reason why you matter "a hill of beans" to this Almighty Creator. You are not some inconsequential accident of nature that barely registers in significance on the scale of the vast cosmos. You are a significant creation of God himself, someone whose significance is such that God went to inexpressible ends in order to claim you through adoption into his family. And I say these things because I am deeply familiar with and convinced by the information God has disclosed about himself to mankind, which is both how and why God is for me more than an analytic proposition. For me, Obama went from being an empty name to a real person because I spent time learning about him from the things he revealed about himself. God went from being a proposition to a significant person the same way; but he came to mean so much more when I discovered that not only do I belong to him but also that he went to profound ends to adopt me as a child into his family.

So that is my encouragement to you. The more time you spend exploring and genuinely meditating upon the things God has revealed about himself, his character and actions, and how it relates to you as his own purposeful creation, the easier it will become to have that relationship with him which has thus far eluded you. It will often feel more like a 'long distance relationship' than a daily person-to-person relationship but God also explains why things are (for now) this way, with the promise that the day is coming when the distance that sin has wedged between us and God will be done away with, once this final battle has been fought and decisively concluded, and we will once again enjoy the Edenic paradise we are ultimately intended for.

Going to church is downright depressing. Walking into church with 1,000 people who do "get it" makes me feel inferior (they get it but I don't), defective, and just plain old dumb. What do they know that I don't? is what I'm thinking . . . My faith, such as it is, is always weaker leaving church than it is when I go.

I also want to point out that a relationship with God is not characterized only by euphoric praising and such. I see that too, in church, with people raising their arms in joyful expressions of awe as they worship. But that is only part of the picture. After church there is the rest of Sunday afternoon and the journey from Monday all the way to Saturday filled with the mundane pressures of this life we live. And you know this, I'm sure. I could be one of those people at your church who looks like they "get it" to you, but you have no idea what I am dealing with in my life or what my Tuesday evening looks like. I guarantee you that there are times where you would look at me and think, "Maybe he doesn't get it either, like me." (Perhaps even more so because, like you, I am rather stoic in the emotional arena. I do feel, but I don't wear it on my sleeve. I exercise a degree of control over my emotions that could be characterized as Vulcan, amplified by my love for logic.)

And by the way? I am also confident enough to guarantee you that most of those 1,000 people are indeed faking it (i.e., their behavior in church is diametrically inconsistent with their behavior otherwise). It might be politically incorrect to say such things about church people but I've never had much respect for political correctness. In my life, candid honesty takes priority. They won't admit it because there is such a sensitivity for the integrity of faith, but many of those people are indistinguishable from unbelievers the rest of the week—unfamiliar with Scripture, do not know anything about God, can’t explain salvation, etc. I think it's a good thing that you have within you this longing to feel a connection with God, but don't allow yourself to think that they "get it" while you don't. Some of them are in the same boat you're in, and others "get it" even less than you do. Don't feel inferior, defective, or dumb. There is no need to feel weaker leaving the service. I encourage you to pursue this longing you have, but never compare yourself to others because you have no idea if their behavior at church is a product of faith or just a social performance.

And finally, a relationship with God is not based "soley on emotions and love." A relationship with God is based on a commitment to him. The emotional feeling of love for God comes with time as you get to know him, which is a product of your sanctification, a process that never ends on this side of the resurrection. There were several years between my commitment to God and my love for him. My love for God, and how much I love him, was a work in progress. I did not exit my conversion with love for God. Reverence? Humility? Respect? Yes. But love only came after I got to know him, which took years of spending time genuinely exploring the gospel of his Son Jesus Christ and the ministry of his apostles, sometimes on my own but mostly through the help of others far more mature than I in their knowledge of God and relationship to him.

If Jesus is God, then Jesus should get as much "airtime" as God does . . . If Jesus is mentioned once, God is mentioned 100 times. If they are essentially one and the same, why aren't they referred to equally? This is a tangent, but something that's been troubling me so.

If Jesus is God, then he was being mentioned 101 times.

It is so easy to think of 'God' as being a name and a person distinct from Jesus. It's not. When we are talking about God, that doesn't mean we are failing to talk about Jesus. 'God' is who he is, and 'Jesus' is his name (or the English version of the Greek Iesous).